Chapter 11
“I’m sorry,” Gwen called out from behind the flimsy screen that separated her bedroom from the rest of the apartment. “I know things are a bit sparse in my refrigerator. I definitely have some cheese. Maybe grapes too?”
Somehow, when they’d decided Hugh would accompany her to her home, she hadn’t actually pictured having him there.
The apartment was neat, of course, and cheerfully decorated. But tiny. Oh, so tiny. Not to mention threadbare and mismatched, because she got all her furnishings secondhand. The contrast to his own sprawling, neoclassical apartment couldn’t have been starker.
Upon their arrival, she’d played the bountiful hostess and encouraged him to grab a snack while she packed.
But if generic saltines and canned peaches didn’t strike his fancy, he was pretty much out of luck in her tiny pantry, because she couldn’t see him preparing oatmeal, ramen, or boxed mac and cheese on her two-burner stove.
Her ancient, avocado-green refrigerator wouldn’t offer him much either. Last week, she’d received a pan of homemade lasagna and some brownies as payment for prophesizing, but those were long gone, so…his options were limited. Embarrassingly so.
The refrigerator door required some force to open, and it gave its distinctive rattle as he wrenched it ajar. She stilled, holding her breath as she waited for his reaction.
There was an extended, problematic silence.
“This is”—he cleared his throat—“a great deal of cheddar.”
Her cheeks burned, but she did her best to sound unbothered. “Have as much as you’d like!”
As much as you’d like would probably mean none, because why in the world would he consume store-brand cheddar when he probably owned a freaking girolle and created gorgeous Tête de Moine rosettes on the daily? Wasn’t that what all rich people—demons, rather—did?
Speaking of cheese…
“You don’t happen to watch Curdled, do you?
” She threw a couple of sweaters into a duct-taped duffel bag.
“The new, holiday-themed season came out this week after we’d already lost power here.
I don’t want spoilers, but…” One more bra should be enough, right?
“All right, I do kind of want spoilers. My actual life provides me with plenty of suspense at the moment. I don’t need my cheese-themed drama series to give me more. ”
“Someone adapted those books for television?” He sounded surprised. “I had no idea.”
Frankly, she was equally surprised. “You’ve read them?”
“A long time ago.” A lengthy pause. “You may not remember, but you told me about the first novel in the series. Before your test. I, uh…wanted to learn more.”
She rocked back on her heels, startled. “Oh.”
He’d thought about that waiting-room conversation after they’d parted? Somehow she’d imagined that he would dismiss the encounter as just another work task dutifully completed. That his memory of it would be erased by the wholesale ignominy of what happened afterward.
But apparently her description of her all-time favorite book had intrigued him a whole heck of a lot, which was kind of nice to hear.
“Um…yes.” Pleased, she smiled down at her sweaters. “Yes, the Dark Cheesemonger Tales were recently adapted into a high-budget prestige television series, at long last. Although they changed a lot of storylines from the books, which I don’t necessarily love.”
When he didn’t say more, she kept packing. Okay, two pairs of leggings—
Unexpectedly, he spoke up again. “We should watch the new season together.”
“Uh…” Her fingers hovered uncertainly over a pair of handknitted socks. “You don’t really want to do that. Why would you?”
He had much more important things to fill his time. Laws. Justice. Weird, grandiose frescoes featuring his seminude family.
“I mean, the books are definitely better than the show,” Gwen added.
“Also much more accurate as far as how affinage works. And sometimes the show’s dialogue isn’t the greatest. During one of the sorority’s orgies, this girl told her partner to—and I quote—‘flip me like a fresh cheddar whose moisture needs to be distributed evenly.’ ”
Gwen paused. “To be fair, though, that actually was a good representation of affinage. And apparently her new position helped matters, given”—how quickly she came while getting railed face down on an improbably giant wheel of Brie de Meaux—“the, uh, available evidence, so perhaps I’m being overly judgmental. ”
“I do want to watch the show with you.” He sounded sincere. “Very much.”
Her nose wrinkled. “You’re sure?”
“Yes.” The refrigerator door closed with a muffled thud, and her couch emitted the series of squeaks that meant someone had dared to perch upon its aged cushions. “Would you rather I didn’t?”
If she wasn’t mistaken, he sounded the tiniest bit…hurt.
“Of course I’d love your company.” Her smile returned.
Widened. “And if you’re into that kind of thing, I can introduce you to my favorite social media influencer too.
He’s really into the show’s Gothic Fromagerie aesthetic.
When he reacts to the episodes, he wears knit turtlenecks beneath his leather apron and has one of those ironic mustaches—”
A peremptory knock rattled the thin entry door to the apartment, and she jumped.
Oh, gods. It was far too soon for Lorrie’s return. Had the government arrived to take Gwen’s extremely false statement? Or—worse—had some of the conspirators somehow figured out what was happening and decided to eliminate everyone who’d interfered with their plans?
Dread knotting her stomach, she emerged from behind the screen and headed for the entry.
“It’s okay, Gwen.” Before she could reach the door, Hugh’s warm hands on her shoulders gently but firmly set her behind him. “Other than Lorrie, were you expecting any visitors?”
She shook her head, her rapid pulse echoing in her ears. “My next-door neighbor, Maneet, stayed outside the Zone with her family for the holidays, and I don’t know who else—”
“Gwen!” The door rocked under another authoritative thump. “It’s Farhanah!”
Hugh looked back at her, brows raised in question.
“Okay. We’re good.” The uneasy roil of her belly eased, and she set down her bag on the living room rug. “That’s Haziq’s aunt, one of my clients. I don’t know why she’s here, but I should answer the door. She’ll worry otherwise.”
His smoked-honey gaze searched her face. “Why don’t you rest for a moment? I can greet her.”
Normally, she’d insist on doing it herself, but her hands were still shaking. So were her knees. Without further ado, she waved him forward and dropped down onto the couch, then promptly flinched at its familiar chorus of squeaks.
After flipping the dead bolt and sliding the security chain free, he braced his feet and cracked the door just wide enough to see the woman on the other side.
“Who are you?” Haziq’s aunt sounded suspicious. “This is Gwen’s apartment.”
“Yes, I know.” Polite but unapologetic, he continued blocking the door. “My name is Hugh Blacke. May I help you?”
“Hugh Blacke? That sounds so…wait.” The older woman harrumphed. “Are you that SERC councilor with a stick up his ass?”
“So I’ve been told,” he said blandly. “Recently, even.”
Her sniff contained an entire thriving universe of disdain. “Useless, the lot of you.”
As a fellow taxpaying Zone resident, Gwen understood Farhanah’s anger.
Even at the best of times, SERC and the common human government woefully neglected the Containment Zone.
Now they’d allowed zombies to slaughter countless Zone inhabitants without giving those inhabitants any warning or any means of communication with the outside world.
Farhanah, Gwen, and everyone else had gone without official assistance for days. Days.
Still, Hugh was risking his reputation—maybe even risking his life—to help now that he understood the situation. He might not be perfect, but he certainly wasn’t useless. And if he did, in fact, have a stick up his very fine ass, it suited him quite well.
“Councilor Blacke is trying his best, Farhanah.” Cheeks flaming at the insult to him, Gwen got to her unsteady feet and joined the demon at the door. “I’m so glad to see that you’re safe and sound. Hugh, if you could step aside?”
She tugged the door from his grip and let Farhanah inside. Still eyeing the demon balefully, Haziq’s aunt smoothed her handsewn tunic over her hips and followed Gwen back to the couch. Hugh stationed himself behind them, his stance alert.
“Can I offer you a drink? Some, uh…” Gwen mentally ran through her current food supplies again and once more came up nearly empty. “Cheese and crackers, maybe?”
“I’m fine, dear. But thank you for offering.
” Without further ceremony, the older woman launched into her tale.
“Gwen, a soldier knocked on my door a few minutes ago. According to her, the danger is probably past, although we’re supposed to keep an eye out for any stray creatures their patrols might have missed.
They don’t know when telecommunications or Zone access will be restored. Hopefully soon.”
Haziq’s aunt patted Gwen’s knee with a raw-knuckled hand. “I asked whether anyone had visited your apartment building yet to share the news. She said they hadn’t, and since they were taking a lunch break, it might be another hour or two. So I came over to tell you myself.”
Gwen’s smile turned genuine. “That was very kind of you. Thank you, Farhanah.”
The other woman dismissed Gwen’s gratitude with an eloquent flick of her wrist, then tucked a silver-streaked strand of hair back into her thick, dark bun. “I just hope we can all leave the Zone soon, or at least contact our families. My nephew must be out of his mind with worry.”
Oh, damn. The next time Haziq talked to his aunt, he might mention meeting Farhanah’s oracle neighbor. Outside a SERC councilor’s apartment building in Georgetown at roughly four in the morning. While access to the Containment Zone was still theoretically impossible.
And if he or Farhanah shared that information with the wrong person…
Disaster. Utter disaster.